Synchronous
by tediouslydull
Summary: John thinks Sherlock's badly hurt. Little does he know the symptoms are caused by something else than an injury.


Synchronous

He had waited for that day, been craving for it. And looking upon his suddenly reappeared flat mate, he wondered why. Why did he feel so empty, useless after Sherlock's death- or rather faked death. He'd lost friends before. Good friends, best friends. Still that didn't felt as excruciating as what he had gone through after the funeral. But all that didn't matter now. Because he was back after these depressing weeks that seemed like years. His dream came through. He noticed Sherlock had turned, gazing at him with his head tipped sideways. Fresh day light was falling on his shoulders, peering through his black girls, turning them into gold. "Hello, John," Sherlock smirked. John closed his eyes for a second, too take it all in. He had missed that voice, that typical I-know-I'm-great-in-every-way smirk. "Sherlock," he replied, not sure what to say at the moment. Or even what to feel. He felt this strange mixture of emotions boiling under his chest. He wanted to hurt him, so that he could just feel for once what John had to go through. He wanted to hug him, feel his texture, in order to prove that it was really Sherlock and not a hallucination. But he couldn't do anything. And neither could Sherlock by the sight of it. He stood there, still looking at John his twisting his fingers as to decide how to deal with the situation. "Bastard," John managed to say. "I know, John". John signed. "So you're back then? For good?" "Yes, John". John nodded. "Well, Mrs. Hudson has put all of your experiment material in boxes up stairs, if you were wondering. The rest's just how you left it." The last sentence came out as a mere whisper. "John, I'm.. I'm sorry." John raised an eyebrow at this. Sherlock meant it. Which was really a rare occasion, but then again, these certain circumstances were something new on there own to say the least. "I mean it," Sherlock whispered. John didn't know what to say. So he just massaged the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hid his face. He was on the brick of crying. For God's sake, he couldn't stand the idea of Sherlock seeing him cry right now. He heard him approaching. A second later he felt two arms crossing his back and pulling him close. John was shocked. Sherlock never had hugged him, ever. So why now? Did he think John needed this? That he was weak? Of course he did, he'd never would wanted to hug John because he simply had missed him. "No," he bit back and strongly pushed Sherlock away. Sherlock fell to the ground, hands spread on the floor and eyes wide open. For a second, John could see a flash of pure hurt crossing Sherlock's eyes, darkening them, and then it was gone. Like he'd just stuffed it away. He regretted his actions immediately, but couldn't move as to help him. Sherlock cleared his throat. "Guess I deserved that one", he said darkly. "Yes, you bloody did," John spit out. "I had to go, John, no other option. Well, there was, but that one would have resolved in some people dying." "Since when do you care about other people dying?" "Some people meaning Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you John," Sherlock signed. "The skull's not enough any more", Sherlock shrugged, as if that explained everything. To John, it did, though. He smirked, knowing Sherlock would never admit that he would miss them. "Well, he's still there just in case." "Smoke's gone, though" John laughed. "We're good, then?" Sherlock looked at John, needing to know for sure. "Yes, can't wait for the next case. As long as it doesn't involve you jumping of a building." "Oh, John, two times would make it dull."

Next weeks were just like before. Sherlock managed to solve two cases and was already busy on the next. A certain clan had gone murdering some high officials. All three politicians were struck by a poisoned arrow, the drug immediately working its way through the blood stream and forcing the heart to stop pumping. Everyone was out of their wits on this one. Well, everyone but Sherlock probably, who looked like he knew more, but still had to straighten out some things. "We're going, John," he suddenly said one night, when John was making some tea. "What? Where to? It's eleven o'clock for God's sake." "Yes, exactly, we don't have much time, put your jacket on." And so they called a cab and were off. John not knowing where they were heading, and what they would be doing once they got there, but as ever, he blindly trusted his flat mate. The cab came to a halt. They were at the far east side of London. "One of my guys from the homeless network would be waiting at that bridge. He had an interesting proposal concerning our case." The place was disserted, not a soul sight. Then John saw something shift on top of the bridge. His inner alarm went red. A person. Probably holding a gun. "Sherlock! Watch out!", he ran towards his mate, who had been eagerly walking faster and was a couple of meters away from John. The man on the bridge moved his arms. John could see he had a bow. One of the clan's. He reached Sherlock when the man took his shot, Jumping and grabbing his feet to make him fall to the ground. "Wha-.." They both fell hard on the bricks. John ignored the shock of pain and crawled toward his mate. Sherlock's head had bumped, blood began flooding out of his head wound. He appeared unconscious. John looked around. The man was gone. "Shit, Sherlock, can you hear me?", he grabbed the man's head and tapped his cheeks. "Hmm, John". Good a reaction. He inspected his wound. It looked worse than it was. Sherlock opened his eyes and mumbled something incomprehensible. "What now?" "Let him go away." "Well, of course I did! He could have killed us. I'll call an ambulance". John searched his pockets for his phone. He felt an arm grabbing his wrist. "No, I'm fine, John." "Sherlock, you're not fine, probably not feeling as such, moreover you could have a concussion. I'm calling an ambulance." Sherlock tightened his grip. "No. I'll be fine. I had worse." He whipped away some blood that was dripping into his eyes. It wasn't working for John, but he knew Sherlock, he would blame him, and he was a doctor, wasn't he, he might as well look after him at the flat. He could still call an ambulance if Sherlock would pass out. John signed. "Ok, fine". He helped Sherlock get up. "A cab home it is then".

Back at the flat, John laid Sherlock on the coach. The cabbie had looked rather frightened at the sight of Sherlock's face, but didn't dare uttering a word about his state. Really, the man was mad. John took some water and a washing cloth. Sherlock was lying on the coach, his right hand over his front. "Sherlock, can you sit up a bit?" "Hmmm", Sherlock answered as he sat up, trying his best to look as if he wasn't in pain. The blood dripping onto his shirt wasn't helping his efforts. John signed. "Really should have called an ambulance", he said as he dipped the wet cloth against Sherlock's head. Sherlock hissed at the contact. It took John 10 minutes to clean the wound and bandage it. Then he saw hole in Sherlock's coat. "What's that?" He pointed at Sherlock's arm and started helping him taking off his coat. It had gone through his suit as well. His arm showed an shallow scratch just above his wrist. John looked at Sherlock. John slightly panicking. "It's fine, John" Sherlock assured him. "No, it's not, it touched you, Sherlock, that's not ok." He touched the scratch with his fingertips. "It's been an hour, John, I'm fine." "You could have a small dose in your system." He frowned as he felt Sherlock's pulse with his thumb. His heart was pounding furiously. "Fuck". "What is it, John?" John looked up, scanning Sherlock's eyes. They were glistering brightly. Good, he seemed fine, conscious. But still… "Some must have made it through your system. We have to go to the hospital, I can't do anything to get the drug out." Sherlock frowned. "Why would you think that. I'm not looking that bad, apart from my forehead, of course. See, check my awareness." Sherlock coordinated his fingers to his nose. "Perfectly fine." He looked questioning at John. He shook his head. "Your heart rate's out of the roof. That can't be right. Must be fighting against the poison. I'm calling now, before it's too late." He stood up and went to the table where he left his phone. Sherlock mouth fell open. He wanted to protest. But didn't know how to persuade John into not calling without telling something he didn't want to admit. "John, you're not calling". "Oh, please, grow up. Yes I am, in fact I'm doing it now. Won't have you die, because you're too stubborn to admit you need help." Sherlock signed. "John, I now for a fact I'm not dying." John frowned. "Oh, you do now? Able to see what's your blood stream's carrying, are we?" Sherlock put his hand in his hair. "No, I'm not. Of course not." "Well, then," John said as he dialed the number. "There are some things I can't control. But I tried so hard," Sherlock whispered, looking John in the eye. "What do you mean?" John asked, forgetting to press call. "I am not dying, John, nothing is invading my blood stream. My heart's just thumping because I was exhausted by climbing the stairs." John laughed. "Uhu, I already considered that. It was half an hour ago. You have an excellent physique, even if you're wounded, your heart wouldn't thump like that. Sorry, I'm not buying your excuses." He turned his eyes back on his phone. Sherlock suddenly stood up and grabbed John's wrist, holding on tightly. "John. Just take my words." "No." "Please?" "No". Sherlock signed, looking at the floor. He shook his head. "You were touching me." "What?" "I said, you were touching me. My heart rate? It increased because you were caressing me. I can't help it." John mouth flew open. "You're really desperate, aren't you? Resorting to such an excuse." "I'm not, John. I mean it. It happens when you're around a lot these days. Makes my chest burn." Sherlock smiled, then saddened. "Aches, hurts." It felt as if some invisible hand just grabbed John's heart at that moment. Realizing what he just had said, Sherlock made a strange cough. "You love me?" Sherlock made a deep grumble. "I'm sorry, John. I tried so hard to ignore it. Usually that works for me. Guess I can't hid everything." Sherlock smirked sadly. Sherlock did love him. John never thought he could be capable of such a thing. And John realized he felt the same. Now that it was defined, he felt it so easily. The pain he went through when Sherlock was away, it just wasn't normal. It must have been love. But Sherlock was a guy. He'd never even try to think to fall in love with a guy. Then again, it wasn't about the gender. It was his personality, the way he seemed to suck John in right from the first moment they'd met. People will talk? Bloody, hell, they had reason to talk. Sherlock noticed John was in deep thoughts, looked to the ground and said: "John, I'm fine. Could you just erase this conversation?" John lifted Sherlock's head, searching his soul through his eyes, trying hard to overcome the sickening stabs in his chest as he felt Sherlock's eyes probably doing the same. "Erase it? I'm not you, Sherlock, can't just erase it. Not sure I want to," John whispered as he let his forehead touch Sherlock's. Sherlock hissed as pain went through his head, but soon found comfort in John's closeness and didn't dare move as far as an inch away.

"I don't know how to deal with this," he stated breathing heavily. "Me neither, Sherlock." John licked his lips. "But I feel it too, you know." "Ignore it. I'll pass. In fact, 75 per cent of all married couples state that love subsides in less than 2 years." John frowned. "What, you're seriously… How… How can you be so clinical about this?" John stood up, looking down on his flat mate. "John-" "No, Sherlock, really, is it so embarrassing to be in love with me? Am I too stupid? Well, stupid enough for caring about you, that's for sure! You know what Sarah said to me, after our encounter with Moriarty at the pool? She said I should stay with you. That it was so obvious that you needed me. And I even believed that. You're just bloody unbelievable. Ignore it. Ha! Just stuff it up… Selfish man. You can't even display a single notion of vulnerability, of humanity, can you? Not even to me." Sherlock grinned. "You done now?" John just stared back, mouth open. "John, firstly, yes, I'm clinical, facts are the only thing I can truly rely on, not emotions." Sherlock stood up, putting his arms on John shoulders, peering his eyes true his skull. "Secondly, you are one of the most bright men I've ever met. You're thinking pattern surprises me sometimes. Most people are predictable, you're not. You're… interesting, not so human like most," Sherlock swallowed. "Not human?" "No. You're something more, not selfish, not ugly. You have no idea what it's like to be able to see, to nearly hear what people think. Now thirdly, there's a reason I didn't want you to know. I'm afraid you'd leave." John frowned. "Of course not, you've done things far worse than falling in love with me," John laughed. "No, John, it's not just that. I mean, things would change. You would want me to change. You would want me to understand things I will never be capable of understanding. You'll grow frustrated and leave. And I rather have the aching than the pain I had when I went hiding after Moriarty, when I couldn't see you anymore. Life had no appeal, except for some challenges now and then. But those are rare and moreover when they're finished, not quite fulfilling." Sherlock had thought a bit further then. He couldn't help it, but he really shouldn't think things trough so profoundly. "Sherlock, listen carefully, I'll never leave. I just want you too feel what I'm feeling right now. No need for understanding or looking ahead. Bloody hell, even I'm trying to grasp what's happening between us now. But I know, you are the most beautiful man I've ever met, I'll take your childish madness. It makes me happy. Could you please just stop thinking now?" John tipped his head and brushed his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock pressed his mouth against John's, grabbing the hair at the back of John's head. Deepening the kiss, wanting to be a part of John. Forever. "Well, that, I can do", Sherlock grinned against John's lips.


End file.
